


The Lesser is My Grace

by perphesone



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien Planet, Alien Rituals, Humor, Love Confessions, Love Potion/Spell, Multi, Pining, Unrequited Love, everyone is bi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7682431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perphesone/pseuds/perphesone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The night sky on Oberia Prime was a deep, cloudy, bottom-of-the-ocean blue-green, with a string of six mirror-bright moons arcing unevenly across the hemisphere like big, luminous pearls."</p><p>Once a year, when the six moons of Oberia Prime align in the night sky over the capital city, the Oberians gather for a celebration of wishes (and wish-fulfillment). Christine Chapel sets a wish into motion. The night that follows is exhilarating, devastating, and more than a little confusing.</p><p>After all, the course of true love never did run smooth.</p><p>(This fic ignores that throwaway line about Chapel in ST:ID. She's the head nurse and she's been there the whole time and Jim knows who she is.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love-in-Idleness

**Author's Note:**

> "Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:  
> It fell upon a little western flower,  
> Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,  
> And maidens call it love-in-idleness."  
> A Midsummer Night's Dream, II.i.

 When Christine woke up, she found herself lying on a familiar biobed in the _Enterprise_ sickbay, which for a moment she didn’t quite recognize from her unfamiliar vantage point. Looking over to her right, she saw Dr. M’Benga bent over another bed, taking readings from Captain Kirk. In the bed to her left was Nyota, beyond her Dr. McCoy, and beyond him was Spock. _Oh, Spock…_

Christine thought it must be her fault that he had gotten tangled up in this mess in the first place.

There were others, and it looked like they were all still unconscious aside from her. Well, they’d all had a very long night, to say the least.

Christine still felt a little dazed herself. She let her eyes fall shut again, thinking maybe she could get a little more rest before Geoffrey noticed she was awake. Soothed by the faint thrumming that always emanated from the engine chamber and the gentle tones of the medical equipment monitoring all of their vitals, she thought back to the night before—at least she hoped it was still the night before, or else they’d all been knocked out for longer than she thought.

They had all been on the surface of Oberia Prime, a new candidate for Federation membership, having been invited to attend a festival near the planet’s capital city as representatives of the Federation as a gesture of diplomatic goodwill.

All things considered, Christine thought it had been a beautiful night, if a little stranger than most.

 

***

 

**_Oberia Prime, Stardate 2263.94 (the night before)_ **

 

The night sky on Oberia Prime was a deep, cloudy, bottom-of-the-ocean blue-green, with a string of six mirror-bright moons arcing unevenly across the hemisphere like big, luminous pearls. Christine always felt very stuffy and rigid in her slate gray dress uniform, but the effect was amplified as she watched the Oberians floating dreamily through the festival grounds in their diaphanous cloaks and gowns. The Starfleet officers scattered throughout the crowds looked to her like awkward stone pillars, and the Oberians like wispy, nacreous clouds dancing nimbly through their ranks.

 _Well, not_ all _awkward_ , Christine revised as she caught sight of Commander Spock talking with the captain, straight-backed, looking perfectly at home in that stern gray jacket. Christine wondered what kind of drink was in his hand, if the Oberian party planners had given him alcohol like the rest of the mostly-human _Enterprise_ crew, or if they had done their research and prepared something with cocoa in it so that he could join in on the intoxicated atmosphere of revelry. Maybe they had tried, and he’d declined to drink it because choosing to dull his senses in an unfamiliar environment would only be an illogical risk. She remembered when Geoffrey, fresh from four years interning on Vulcan, had gleefully told her about that peculiarity of vulcanoid biology. She thought of the recurring daydream in which she settled Spock down with a mug of hot chocolate in front of a fireplace in a log cabin somewhere. And then, as she watched him lean close to the captain's ear to let him in on some private joke, she began to wonder about the two of them, as she sometimes did. As a lot of the crew did, by now. Relationships tended to begin quietly on a starship, but attempts at subterfuge often made the shift from friendship to courtship more conspicuous rather than less. After all, with everyone in such close quarters for such a long time, finding grist for the gossip mill was one of the more reliable ways to keep from going stir crazy.

So when a certain someone started spending a lot more time than before in a certain other someone’s quarters, someone _else_ was bound to notice. Even if they really were only playing chess. Sometimes Christine embarrassed herself with how deeply she hoped they were just playing chess, and she was absolutely _mortified_ whenever she remembered the little thrill of excitement she’d felt after Nyota had first told her about the break-up.

A hand on her wrist brought her out of her reverie. She thought it must be Nyota, coming back with their drinks, so when she saw the breathtaking stranger who had appeared beside her, well, naturally it sort of took her breath away.

The first thing Christine noticed was her smile.

The second thing Christine noticed, with a flush of warmth to her cheeks, was just how _translucent_ the Oberian garments were when viewed up close.

“Hello,” the stranger said. She wasn’t Nyota, but she was holding two drinks and she gracefully held one out to Christine.

“Oh—thank you,” she said as she took the drink—a little clumsily by comparison, she thought ruefully. It was a bubbly, golden liquid that had been poured into a delicate little glass cup that had been carved to look like a flower.

“I am called Kriyas.”

“Oh! Kriyas,” Christine repeated, amused. “That’s almost like my name. I’m Chris. Well, some people call me that. It’s short for Christine.”

“May I call you that?”

“Of course.”

“Wonderful! I am happy to be meeting you, Chris.”

“Me, too. It’s an honor to be attending your festival of wishes.”

Kriyas laughed. “Well, it is after all our _wish_ to join with you in the Federation of Planets, so it is only suitable.”

Christine smiled back at her, then took a sip of the drink she had been brought. It fizzed pleasantly on her tongue, carrying with it a sweet, floral taste. “Mmm! What’s in this drink?”

“It is the nectar of our wishing flowers. They bloom deep in the forest,” she gestured broadly towards the tall trees that bordered the festival grounds, “and we share their nectar on the nights when our six moons align in the sky. Historically, we would drink from the blossom directly, but in order to protect the plant in the wild we have developed ways to harvest the nectar without harming the flower.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s sustainable,” Christine said, “because it’s _delicious_.”

She moved to take another sip, but Kriyas caught her wrist halfway on its way to her mouth.

“It is not required,” she said, “but the tradition of the festival is to take one sip and then to give the rest of the nectar to someone else. Someone you _admire_ ,” she added meaningfully, meeting Christine’s eyes and then pointing directly at Spock, who had drifted through the crowd during their conversation and was now only a few yards away, with the captain still beside him.

“What—”

“I watched you looking at him! It makes your eyes go off into a dream. You should share the nectar with him and make your dream true!”

Maybe it was her desire to avoid offending Kriyas in order to maintain good relations between Oberia Prime and the Federation; maybe it was that she really did want an excuse to approach the commander that night and she hoped he might find it endearing that she had chosen him; maybe it was that Kriyas physically shoved her in Spock’s direction.

Either way, Christine suddenly found herself in front of Spock and Captain Kirk and with their full attention.

 _Oh, shit,_ she thought, wincing as their eyes fell on her.

“Hey, Christine,” Kirk greeted her easily.

Spock only nodded in acknowledgment.

“Hello, captain!” Christine said, and if her voice trembled a little she tried her best to move on as though it hadn’t. “Hello, commander! Um—I’d like to offer you this,” she said to Spock as she held out her cup to him. “It’s the nectar from what’s called a wishing flower. I was just told that it’s a tradition during this festival to give your cup to someone who you—…respect,” she improvised a little to downplay the emotional connotations of the ritual. “Then I saw you standing here, and I thought, well, I respect you, so!”

Thankfully he took the cup from her hands then, sparing her from any further explanation.

“Thank you, Christine,” Spock said, not at all unkindly.

Christine was beaming. “You’re welcome, Spock,” she said, and then suddenly felt as though she had lingered too long, and said all in a rush: “Well, enjoy the rest of the festival, sir! Goodbye, captain!”

She turned in a whirl and hurriedly returned to where she’d been standing, but the beautiful Oberian woman was nowhere to be seen.

A moment later, Nyota sidled up to her, holding two glasses of an ordinary drink and handing one to Christine. “What was _that_ all about, Chris?” she asked slyly.

 

***

 

“I can’t believe Christine doesn’t respect me!” Jim exclaimed with mock-affront as he and Spock went back to making the rounds of the festival.

“I am certain that she does, Jim, as you are an admirable individual and an outstanding captain."

“Oh, so it’s not that she doesn’t respect _me_ , just that she respects you _more_.”

“Indeed," Spock replied, sounding a little self-satisfied. "It would seem the nature of the ritual lends itself to public confessions of what has hitherto remained private regard.” 

"It would seem that way, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, Jim," said Spock, and then he paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. "For instance," he said, and then held out his glass to Jim.

Jim searched Spock's face for any indication of irony or disingenuousness. He found none, and by now he was reasonably confident in his Spock-reading abilities, so he took the glass from Spock’s hand and gulped down about half of the bubbly nectar.

“Thank you, Spock," he said, grinning broadly. “And just so you know, I _respect_ you right back.”

Jim dared to give Spock’s shoulders a squeeze with his free arm and passed the nectar back to him so that he could finish it off.

They walked and talked, and Jim often found excuses to touch Spock, feeling buoyant and bright and fiercely optimistic.

And the night deepened, and he also found himself thinking of how attractive and disarming Christine's blushing cheeks and earnest expression had been.


	2. To Have His Sight Thither...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But herein mean I to enrich my pain,  
> To have his sight thither and back again.  
> I.i.

Leonard just about had a heart attack when Spock careened into the chair across from him, clasped hands slamming down onto the table and tipping it dangerously in his direction, knocking over the three half-full drinks that had been balanced on it and visibly unnerving the two Oberian dignitaries who Leonard had been chatting up. They exchanged glances and mutually agreed to excuse themselves.

“Doctor, I require your counsel,” Spock said with pointed urgency, leaning sharply in towards Leonard as the pair of Oberians fled.

Leonard held his hands up in surrender, his expression loudly broadcasting bewilderment and indignation. “About _what,_ Spock!? My God, man, we’re at a party!”

Spock settled back into his chair. He was still in a huff, but at least the table was parallel to the ground again and Leonard could set the fallen glasses back upright.

“It is of utmost importance, I assure you.”

Leonard looked at Spock.

Spock looked back at him.

He didn’t say anything.

“Well, _what?_ What is it!?”

Spock looked at him pitifully, and if Leonard didn’t know any better he’d say Spock _sighed._

“It is… it concerns Jim.”

“Oh, Christ,” Leonard muttered, pushing his chair back and standing up. He should’ve known. “Come on, Spock, if we’re having this conversation then I’m having a drink.” He paused, waiting for the commander to follow his lead, and then added bitterly: “Of course, if you hadn't'a stampeded over here like a raving lunatic and _knocked my drink over_ then it wouldn’t be an issue.”

Spock didn’t even have the common decency to look repentant as the two of them walked over to replenish Leonard’s liquor supply.

“Well, we might as well get it over with. What’d he do this time?”

“In the past thirty-two minutes, Jim has remarked upon the sexual and romantic attractiveness of Nurse Christine Chapel approximately fifty-one times.”

It was a hard thing not to laugh. Leonard nodded seriously at Spock, tight-lipped to stop the smile that threatened to emerge. “Approximately? You don’t have an exact figure? I’m surprised.”

“I did not begin keeping count until it became excessive.”

Leonard _did_ laugh at that. “All right, Spock, I have a feeling I know, but… why exactly is this a problem?”

“In all of our conversations before tonight, Jim has made similar comments about Nurse Chapel exactly seven times. Total.” Spock sounded like he was about to throw the vulcan equivalent of a hissy fit, God help him.

Leonard looked down at the array of glasses on a table and picked up a small cup with what looked like petals carved into it. He looked at it, sniffed it, found the results inconclusive, and held it up so that Spock could see it. “Do you know what this is?”

“It is an Oberian drink—a kind of nectar, as I understand, although I do not know if the name is meant literally.”

Leonard took a sip and pinched up his face in displeasure. “Well, it sure ain’t liquor. Here, you can take it,” he said, handing the nectar off to Spock and just grabbing a glass of what he’d been drinking before Spock had arrived and damn near upended the table.

Glasses in hand, Leonard decided against going back to the table where Spock had accosted him and instead guided them over to a stone bench that sat a ways away from the crowds. They sat down with their backs to the festival, and Leonard tilted his chin to look up over the treetops at the velvet-dark sky.

He never got quite used to it, being on these Class-Ms where he could almost forget he wasn’t back home on Earth… until he looked up at the sky and saw something like six goddamn moons, all hung up in a row like Christmas ornaments. He shook his head and took a swig of his drink.

“So Jim’s been talking about Christine. Why’s it bothering you, Spock?” Leonard asked him, dared him to answer honestly.

“He is exhibiting uncharacteristic behavior, Leonard,” Spock said with an audible note of exasperation.

“Since when is Jim being interested in a girl uncharacteristic?”

“Since—” Leonard could see Spock running the numbers in his head. “Jim has expressed no such interest in Nurse Chapel or any other woman since the _Enterprise_ disembarked from Yorktown,” he said definitively.

“And that his expressing interest now is a problem because…?”

Spock just looked at him helplessly, so he decided to ease up on him a little.

“It’s all right; I won’t make you say it." He paused, and then added: "But I am gonna say it: you’re jealous, Spock."

“Jealousy, Leonard, is an emotional reaction which, although it may have been advantageous in those primitive times when all kinds of territorial behavior served to ensure survival, is now obsolete and unnecessary.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

“ _Doctor,_ I would have thought that considering your total access to my medical and psychological records, not to mention our years of cohabitation on the _Enterprise_ , you would be aware by now of my gender identification—”

“It’s okay, Spock, I know you’ve read Shakespeare. You don’t have to play dumb with me.” He took another swallow of the alien facsimile of whiskey in his glass. “And before you even start telling me how illogical that expression is, I’d like to remind you that you were the one who came to _me_ for help.”

Well, that shut him up.

“Hey, it’s all fine,” Leonard said after it became clear Spock wasn’t going to volunteer any more information, even if he had decided to stop denying what was clear as day. Namely, his hopeless crush on Jim. “You don’t have to tell me anything, and I’m sure as hell not gonna try to get into that hyper-encrypted supercomputer brain of yours if you don’t want me to, but you don’t have to pretend with me, all right?”

“It would seem that I do not have a choice.”

“You haven’t touched your drink,” Leonard observed.

Spock tipped his head back and drank the whole glass at once.

Leonard wondered if Spock thought was going to get drunk on that—whatever it was, Spock seemed to have some idea—or if he just wanted to drink it all down to get it out of the way.

He suddenly felt conscious of the rough dress uniform collar around his throat and reached up to undo the top few clasps, revealing a narrow V of his black undershirt. He knew it ruined the dignified effect, but at least he didn’t feel like he was being choked anymore. “I don’t know why the hell they had us wear these damn formal dress uniforms tonight,” he said gruffly.

He waited for Spock to tell him _this is a diplomatic function above all else, and as representatives of the Federation it is imperative that we…_

But Spock didn’t say anything.

“Look, Spock,” he said, thoughtlessly placing what had the potential to be a  comforting hand on Spock’s knee. “I know how you feel about that good-for-nothing captain of ours. If I’m being honest, I’m as surprised about the thing with Christine as you are. Jim hasn’t mentioned her one way or the other to me before. Truth be told, most of the time he’s just telling me how much he likes _you._ ”

Spock didn’t shy away from his touch, and really that should’ve been Leonard’s first sign that he wasn’t in his right mind.

“Who the captain does and does not speak about in private conversations is, as you might say, none of my goddamn business,” Spock said, suddenly aloof.

“Oh, now, Spock—”

And then Spock was kissing him, so he couldn’t talk anymore.

He dropped his glass.

For a moment he almost liked it, being all wrapped up in warm vulcan, but then his brain caught up to him and he firmly put his hands on Spock’s shoulders and held him out at a distance.

“Spock! Have you lost your only brain or what!?” he hissed, trying to avoid drawing the attention of any potential onlookers at the edges of the festival crowd.

Spock looked dizzy.

“I apologize, Leonard, I—I do not know what has come over… you are so…”

He tried to lean in for another kiss, but this time Leonard was ready to hold him off.

“No, no, no, darlin’, we are not doing _this,_ whatever it is,” he told Spock, holding him steady and running a hand soothingly across his back. Spock’s cheeks were flushed completely green, and he looked just about as openly shocked than Leonard had ever seen him.

Leonard cast an uneasy glance over his shoulder at the crowd behind them. When he looked back at Spock, his eyes landed on the empty glass still loosely held in Spock’s hand.

 _Must’ve been some drink,_ he thought wryly, at a loss for any other explanation.


	3. By Another's Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "O hell! to choose love by another's eyes."  
> I.i.

Janice Rand wove through the crowd in a flurry, narrowly dodging officers’ feet and stepping on more than a couple trailing Oberian skirts in her frantic search to find someone she could share her new discovery with. Spotting two of her friends already standing together, she rushed up to meet them, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Nyota! Christine!” she exclaimed, not waiting for acknowledgment or worrying about the conversation she might have been interrupting before she barreled on, gesturing exuberantly. “I’m so glad I found you two, you will not _believe_ what I just saw! You won’t ever guess who I just saw back there, sitting on one of those cute stone benches by the edge of the woods, looking up at the moons and _kissing_ each other!”

They each met her gaze apprehensively.

“...Who—”

“Doctor McCoy and Commander Spock!” she announced, cutting Nyota’s question off at the head.

Nyota’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with suspicion as she remembered how easily excitable Janice could be—maybe it was a case of mistaken identity, or she’d misunderstood what was happening. “Janice, are you sure about that?”

“Oh, I’m sure. I saw everything—and I heard some of it, too! I heard Doctor McCoy say something like, ‘Oh, Spock, sugar, you don’t have to pretend in front of me, honey,’” she recounted, putting on an exaggerated southern drawl to imitate McCoy. Christine and Nyota cracked begrudging smiles, so Janice continued, clasping her hands behind her back and standing up as straight as possible before echoing Spock’s reply:

“‘It would seem, Leonard…” Janice turned her face away from them, biting her lip and furrowing her brows delicately, winning a laugh from Christine, “‘...that I do not have a choice.’” She left a brief pause for dramatic effect before turning back into herself, clapping her hands together with glee. “And then after that, Spock _kissed him!”_

“Just like that?” Nyota asked, smiling, highly entertained but still not totally convinced.

“Well, they talked for another minute first but the band had started up again so I couldn’t really hear what they were saying anymore,” Janice admitted, “but after that, they were kissing each other! Like, on the mouth and everything!”

“Jesus,” said Nyota at the same time that Christine said “Wow…”

“Are you _sure?”_ Nyota asked, just one more time.

“Nyota,” Janice said seriously, placing her steady hands on Nyota’s shoulders, “I am more sure about what I saw back there than I have ever been about anything in my entire Starfleet career.”

“I’m sure the captain will be happy to hear that, considering you handle most of his paperwork.”

Janice thought that sounded like Nyota was deflecting so that she wouldn’t have to address the matter _actually_ at hand, but she decided not to push it. It still hadn’t been that long since Spock and Nyota had broken up, after all.

“Well, the point is it happened,” said Janice brightly, “and I think I know a lot of people who would like to know, so if you’ll excuse me—”

“Janice, don’t you think you should—”

“—I’m going to go tell them!”

She ignored Christine’s half-finished protest and whirled around, leaving Christine and Nyota to helplessly watch her golden blond braided updo disappearing into the crowd.

 

***

 

“Okay, Spock, we’re gonna figure this out,” Leonard said as he pressed the back of his hand to Spock’s forehead. He held it there for a second, then shook his head and sighed, cursing vulcan physiology. “Do you have a fever? I don’t have a med-scanner with me and you’re not human so I can’t tell by touch.”

“My core temperature is within the normal range for a vulcan.”

Leonard looked at him doubtfully. “All right,” he said after a moment, “I guess I’ll take your word for it.”

“I would not attempt to deceive you,” Spock said, the faintest of creases appearing between his brows.

“Yeah, I know,” Leonard conceded. “Well, I’d _like_ to scan your blood for any toxins, but without a tricorder…”

“There are no toxins, I assure you. I am functioning normally.”

“Spock, you just kissed me on the mouth not five minutes ago. You call that normal?”

Spock hesitated. “I apologize for my momentary lapse of control. I did not intend to cause you any discomfort, I only—”

Leonard held up a hand to silence him, and to his surprise it worked. “That’s not the point. Something’s made you sick, Spock, and if it’s affected you so severely even with your vulcan control then it could be affecting others, too, if they were exposed.”

Spock nodded minutely, a teasing glint appearing in his dark eyes. “For a moment, doctor, I was under the impression that you were merely concerned for my own well-being.”

“Not on your life, hobgoblin,” Leonard replied without thinking, smirking despite himself. “How’s your pulse?”

“All of my vital processes are functioning normally.”

“Well, there has to be _something_ wrong with you to have made you act like this.”

“I respectfully disagree with that conclusion.”

“Spock. If you’re not sick—since you seem so certain about that—what other explanation could there possibly be?” Leonard challenged.

Seeing the wide-eyed look on Spock’s face made him regret it instantly.

“Leonard, I do not understand your reluctance to accept the most obvious explanation as fact. My…—” he paused, searching for words. “I believe that my feelings for you are clear. I am—”

Leonard felt his guts twist. “Don’t say it, Spock,” he said, speaking louder than was necessary to make sure Spock didn’t get even one more word out. “Like it or not, you haven’t expressed the slightest amount of—romantic interest in me until tonight. I have every reason to believe that some food or drink or some pathogen in the atmosphere has infected you and caused some kind of hormonal imbalance, which would explain your altered emotional responses to… well, to _me._ What have you eaten since you beamed down?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, that settles it. Judging by how not every single Starfleet officer in attendance is throwing themselves at someone else, it can’t be an airborne particle unless it only affects vulcans, but that’s unlikely, given that the basic chemicals that dictate emotional responses are more or less the same in vulcans and humans. So it’s whatever was in that cup that did it,” he concluded, indicating the empty glass that Spock had set on the ground at their feet.

“I was informed by Nurse Chapel that the drink has some ritual significance for the Oberians during this festival,” Spock explained. “It is apparently their custom to exchange the cups of nectar between each other as a gesture of respect. I am unaware of the specifics of the ritual or the exact contents of the beverage, however.”

“Then we’ll just have to find someone to _tell us_ the specifics. If we’re lucky, there’s an antidote.”

Leonard stood, beckoning for Spock to follow him back into the throngs of the festival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short, but the next one is already about halfway written :) so there shouldn't be too long to wait!


	4. Breath So Bitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?  
> Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. "  
> III.ii.

Janice had barely left when the captain appeared out of the crowd, many of whom had begun to dance with one another as the night wore on, transforming the wide field into an outdoor ballroom. He approached with the air of a man from an old Earth romance novel—an image of him in a waistcoat and white gloves instead of his Starfleet uniform flickered into Christine’s mind. But then, with its tailored structure and that high-buttoned collar that led her eyes up to his hard jawline and soft expression, maybe the uniform wasn’t too far off.

“Hi, Christine,” he said as he neared her, voice low and deliberate. His electric eyes were focused on Christine as though he couldn’t even see Nyota standing beside her.

“Captain.”

“Please, call me Jim.”

“Alright…Jim,” she acquiesced, a note of deference remaining in her voice nonetheless.

“Would you like to dance with me?”

He offered her his hand and an easy smile.

Christine’s eyes darted to Nyota, who just shrugged in response.

_What the hell,_ she thought. It’s not like Spock was going to make himself available any time soon by the sound of things. She could do worse for a dance partner than the youngest captain in Starfleet history and the hero of the Federation.

“Okay,” she said, taking his hand and letting him lead her away.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said as he rested his other hand on her waist and turned to face her. “Is it just the moonlight, or did you dye your hair?”

“Last week,” she confirmed, placing her own hand on his shoulder. She’d changed it from blonde to silver.

“It suits you.”

They began to dance, taking small steps, feeling the waltzing rhythm of the Oberian music.

“The color?”

The crowd began to melt away from her perception, shifting into an unfocused blur of gray and pearly white, dancing light and shadows swirling insignificantly behind the captain—Jim.

“The moonlight.”

His hand on her waist pulled her in a little closer.

His eyes were so, so blue. Like shallow water. Like the view of Earth from the edge of the solar system. She could see the creases around the corners and the lines underneath. He looked tired, but not unhappy.

“From which moon?” Christine asked, teasing.

Jim cracked a wide smile. “Just the one second from the right, actually. See it up there?”

She let out a small gasp as he suddenly spun her around, steadying her by wrapping one arm around her waist from behind and pointing out one of the moons with his free hand.

“No,” she said carefully, catching on to the game, “I don’t think I know which one you mean.”

“No?”

His lips were very close to her ear and her back pressed against his chest was so warm and he gently took her chin in his hand, directing her gaze to the sky. “You don’t see that bi-i-ig moon right up there?”

“I had really bad grades in observational astronomy at the academy,” she said as she turned back to face him, smiling coyly.

“You did not,” he replied. “I’ve seen your personnel file and that includes your transcripts.”

“Oh, no, you caught me,” she feigned disappointment, pouting. “I was just trying to give you a chance to explain something to me—I know how men like that. Especially when they’re commanding officers.”

Jim let out a surprised laugh. “You are really something, Christine. I really think you’re something special.”

He placed his hands on her upper arms and held her still as he closed the distance between them, pressing his dry lips to hers. She let him kiss her, returning the gentle pressure until he pulled back, his cerulean eyes locked onto hers.

She saw that a touch of her pale pink lipstick had transferred onto his mouth, and that made her smile as she stared back at him.

“What are you doing, captain?”

His expression shifted, betraying a moment of hurt before he covered it with a self-deprecating grin. “Well, I’m actually trying to, uh, woo you, but I must not be very good at it if you still don’t want to call me by my first name.”

“What about Commander Spock?” she asked, taking his hands from her shoulders and releasing them down at his sides.

“What about him?” Jim replied, voice suddenly rough.

“You’re in love with him.”

“Is it that obvious?”

_Yes,_ she thought. “It’s easy for me to tell, because I’m in love with him, too,” she said instead, hoping her admission would help spare his dignity. And she wanted to tell someone out loud, anyways. It always made her emotions feel more solid, less silly and fanciful, when she talked about them to somebody who knew Spock. Somebody like the captain, who knew him as a person and didn’t just see him as some intimidating, untouchable paragon of logical thought.

“Well,” he deflected, taking her hands again, “maybe I’m in love with you, too.”

“Captain,” she said firmly, shaking him off. “I don’t mind you flirting with me tonight, but I thought you would have the decency to be honest with me if you were going to let it go this far.”

“Christine, please,” he reached for her again but she caught his wrist before his hand was on her again. She bit back her instinct to sympathize with the desperation on his face and held him fast. “I’m serious, Chris, I really think I love you.”

“You think?” She raised her eyebrows incredulously. “Captain, I thought you were better than this. Goodbye.”

She let him go and turned around without another word before she could register the pain in his forlorn expression, navigating the crowd to find her way back to Nyota.

If he called out after her, she pretended not to hear.

 

***

 

“I don’t know, Chris, I mean, I do want him to be happy—content—…I want him to be happy, but…” Nyota was saying as she and Christine wandered side-by-side along one of the meandering paths that wound through an elegant garden bordered by the festival grounds on one side and the woods on the other. The heels of their boots clicked rhythmically against broad, smooth stepping stones that gleamed under their feet and refracted the soft moonlight like opals. They each carried a little ornate glass full of golden nectar in one of their hands. All around them, deep green leaves and pale, luminous blossoms shook in the warm midsummer breeze.

“But…?” Christine prompted gently.

“Well—,” Nyota sighed, stopping suddenly. She turned her face up to look at the moons, and their clear silver light was caught up in her eyelashes, defining their outline against the dark foliage and casting long feathered shadows on her cheeks. “Honestly, I didn’t think it would happen so soon,” she admitted, “and I _really_ didn’t think it would be Len.”

“Me, neither. I mean, I don’t think anyone would’ve seen that coming. Since the two of you broke up I always thought if there was anyone else for him, it would have been...well…”

“The captain,” they said simultaneously. Christine remembered their dance together—she hadn’t told Nyota anything that happened, but she could almost still feel his soft, dry lips and his warm weight leaning into her, and hear how underneath the breezy flirtations his voice had been rough with desperation. She wondered if he knew about Spock and Leonard. She thought it would be a lonely thing, to watch your two closest friends fall in love without you.

Even without the sober austerity that was to be expected of a commanding officer.

Even if you weren’t already in love with one of them yourself.

Christine thought that Jim Kirk must have been very lonely.

The path they were on led them to a wide reflective pool, ringed with curved stone benches.

“Let’s sit down here, okay?” Nyota suggested, lips drawn into a thin smile.

“Sure.”

They sat together, knees almost touching, watching mirrored counterparts of the stars above glittering in the shallow black water. Music drifted in from somewhere behind them—a song in Oberian, a swooning, wavering voice accompanied by a harp with an alien tonality. Christine thought of asking Nyota how much of it she could understand, if it was a sad song or a joyful one.

“Let’s make a toast,” she said instead, remembering the cups of nectar they had picked up before entering the garden. “That Oberian girl told me you’re supposed to take a sip and then pass your cup to someone you admire, so…”

She smiled shyly and took a sip, leaving an imprint in seashell pink lipstick on the rim of the glass and holding it out to Nyota, who followed suit.

“So, what are we drinking to?”

“To Spock and Leonard’s happiness?” Christine suggested with a shrug.

“Sure, to Spock and Leonard’s happiness,” Nyota repeated, laughing.

They knocked their glasses together, traded them, and drank the rest down.

Christine forgot about Spock and Leonard and she stopped wondering about Jim Kirk’s tragic loneliness and her suddenly dry mouth fell open as she saw stars and moons shimmering in and out of focus in Nyota’s deep brown eyes, blown almost black with desire. They both leaned forward, Christine watching her own entranced face grow larger and larger in Nyota’s wide pupils until their lips met and her eyelids automatically fluttered shut.

They pulled apart in an instant but even that, the barest press of Nyota’s mouth against hers, had set off a little spark-like burst of pleasure low in her abdomen.

“Oh my God,” Christine breathed, delighted. She shifted her thighs against each other, pressing them tightly together to momentarily satisfy her sudden need for friction. Her hands ran down Nyota’s arms, clasped her hands, almost dared to caress her cheek but stopped short, caught between enthusiasm and uncertainty.

Nyota wordlessly answered her questioning gaze with another kiss, drawing close and twining their fingers together. Christine hummed with contentment as Nyota leaned into her, holding her close with a hand on the back of her head. She tilted her head back as Nyota’s lips drifted from her mouth down to her jawline, and she guessed Nyota had undone the clasps that fastened her jacket collar at her throat because she felt teeth grazing her collarbone.

Christine arched her back, balancing her weight dangerously on the very edge of the bench as she tried to bare as much of herself as possible, giving Nyota room to climb up and slide one knee in to fill the space between her thighs, now parted as much as her heavy gray slab of a pencil skirt would allow. Distant strains of otherworldly melody from the festival likewise filled the air between her breathless moans, airy not-words that communicated her pleasure just as effectively as any expression in Standard could have.

Christine felt a bright burst of pure _joy_ with every kiss that was devoted to the exposed stretch of her body, and the weight of her restrictive uniform was stripped away as Nyota deftly removed her jacket and lifted her black undershirt to move her lips across Christine’s ribs. Then she moved farther down, kissing along the centerline of Christine's stomach and sliding her hands down Christine’s sides to map out the contours of her waist and hips. Christine placed her hand on the back of Nyota's head, encouraging the attention.

Their movements were blissfully affectionate and unhurried. 

"Come back up here," Christine said when Nyota reached the waistband of her skirt. "There's no rush."

"No, I guess there isn't," Nyota replied with a gentle laugh as she lifted her head to kiss Christine on the lips again.

They just looked at each other for a moment then, and Christine found herself smiling so widely that her cheeks began to ache.

"I love you," Christine admitted.

"I love you, too, Chris."

Christine let out a nervous giggle, and then Nyota started laughing, too.

They kissed.

And they kissed.

And they  _kissed._

And then there were two loud voices approaching, crashing into them like a disruptor wave.

Christine opened her eyes in a flash and watched the white moons strung up in the sky fall away from her as, disoriented, she lost her balance on the edge of the bench and tipped backwards with a gasp, pulling Nyota down along with her.

They landed in the shallow pool with an unimpressive splash.

Christine dragged herself up out of the water to perch on one of the stones that rimmed the pool, indelicately snorting water out of her nose once she was sitting upright. She was only about half-soaked, but she knew her hair must have been ruined and her sopping synth-wool skirt was clinging uncomfortably to her bare legs.

Blinking a few times to clear her eyes, she was able to discern the identities of the two interlopers—it was Lieutenant Commander Scott and Lieutenant Sulu, and they were yelling about something—

“Listen, laddie, I’m flattered, but I’m telling you, you’re off your head!”

“I’m not crazy, Monty, I’m in love with you!”

“Haven’t you got a husband!?” Christine saw Scotty quickly walking the perimeter of the reflective pool, torso turned around backwards so he could talk to Sulu—and so he could make sure he was keeping a healthy distance. She was struck by the familiarity of their conversation. It was a lot like her encounter with the captain earlier in the night. “And besides that, you know I’m not interested in you, because of—” he faltered, seeing the two women he’d inadvertently sent tumbling into the water. “...Nyota. Hello. Hi, Chris,” he said, giving them each a wave and an embarrassed grin.

“Hi, Scotty,” Nyota said as she got to her feet and out of the pool and began to peel off her damp uniform jacket. She untucked her undershirt so she could twist the hem in her hands to wring some of the water out of it.

When Christine moved to stand up beside her, Nyota took both of her hands to help pull her up.

“What exactly is going on here?” Nyota asked, releasing one of Christine’s hands but keeping the other close at her side, their fingers loosely interlocked.

“We were sort of in the middle of something,” Christine added proudly.

Scotty’s eyes were glued to their clasped hands. “I, ah, didn’t mean to interrupt you ladies. It’s just, er, ah… there seems to have been a misunderstanding between Lieutenant Sulu and myself,” he offered feebly, turning faintly red.

“There’s no misunderstanding,” Sulu interjected immediately. “I know how I feel.”

“Aye, and you're making  _me_ feel like a right fool with this—this practical joke, or whatever it is.”

“Everyone feels like a fool when they’re in love. It’s natural.”

“I’m not in love!” Scotty protested. “Not with you! And you’re not in love with me, you’re in love with your husband Ben!”

“Love is an inexhaustible resource,” Sulu said matter-of-factly.

“Now he’s spouting poetry!” Scotty lamented, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “And what about you two!” he cried, indicating Christine and Nyota. “And Yeoman Rand told me about all the business with Doctor McCoy and the commander! It’s like every one of you has gone mad, gallivanting around, having little secret moonlit rendezvous in the woods. What are you all thinking!? I mean, this is a diplomatic function for crying out loud! What in the world’s gotten into you all!?”   

They all fell silent, so that the only sound was the distant chattering of the festival.

Christine stared at the ground. She suddenly felt so embarrassed that her cheeks felt hot, although she hadn’t felt like she’d done anything wrong. She squeezed Nyota’s hand.

No one had an answer for Scotty.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying something new (for me) with this fic, which is actually posting chapters as I write them rather than uploading it all at once after it's finished. Hopefully it works out and I'm able to update promptly ❤ and if not...then I'll know for the future that I should just wait until my fics are done to post them.
> 
> More pairings may be added as the story continues & I'll update tags accordingly when they do!


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